The Crackventures of Sam and Kevin
by RunOutOfWit
Summary: This is the result of me watching my dad play Skyrim and feeling bad for the Gloomlurkers. Crack ahead! Rated T for language.


_AN: So, I wrote this after my da__d went creeping through a Dwemer ruin and I noticed the name of one of the Falmer was a "gloomlurker." I said, jokingly, that my dad just should have gone up to him and started some conversation, maybe they could go and get some ale together, etc. So, deciding to just derp, I wrote a short little crackfic for Skyrim. We were also becoming increasingly tired of DB Lydia (DB meaning "Dumb Bitch"). So, this is the result of that day. Enjoy._

I crept through the caverns of Mzulft, hearing the clinking and clunking of Dwemer machinery growing more distant. My young housecarl, Lydia, crouched behind me with her steel greatsword drawn. I gave her a nod as we slowly crept through the narrow cavity. I lowered my breathing, calming myself and walking slowly as the obnoxiously loud housecarl trudged behind me. I sighed inwardly, growing irritated by her loudness.

"Oh!" Her exclamation was followed by the clamor of rocks falling from the ceiling.

I narrowly avoided the brunt of the trap. As I was backing up, however, a rock bounced back and hit me in the shin. It wasn't enough to break anything, but it brought forth an angry cry from my lips. I could hear alerted Falmer scuttling around somewhere ahead of us, but did not care at that point.

"Talos damn you, Lydia!" I cried, bending down to one knee and hugging my injured shin.

"I'm sorry!" She bent down to try to help me, but I pushed her away roughly.

"Damn it, Lydia! Why are you so _stupid_? You know what? Give me my stuff. You're done here."

"What?" She opened her eyes in surprise, as if she hadn't been expecting this since the day I became Thane of Windhelm. "Why? What have I do—?"

I silenced her with a look, anger evident on my face. "You trip traps, you have no sense of sneaking, you're louder than a pack of wolves, and you inspire so much rage in me, that I can't be certain I won't just turn around and _kill_ you, you dumb bitch. Now, go. You can go back to my house, or you can go back to Dragonsreach, _I don't care_. Just leave. I'll take care of the Falmer myself."

She looked like she was about to plead with me more before a heavy sigh left her lips. "As you will, my Thane." She handed me my things and I was soon overencumbered. I watched her leave down the way we came, and when she was out of my sights, I turned back to the path at hand.

I wasn't going to get anywhere while I was holding so much stuff, though. I slowly sat on the ground, beginning to stuff myself with food from my bag. It wasn't until opening it, however, that I really realized _just how much_ I had. There must've been fifty pounds of it in there! So, I ate and I ate and I ate.

Soon I was down to the Black-Briar mead. I pulled out all of my bottles of it, making a small arc of bottles around me. I didn't get very far, however, before I looked up and saw a Falmer skulking down the path, looking directly at me.

A surprised gasp left me and I tried to get my bow out. It was trapped under me, however, and the weight of everything hanging off of my body would not allow me to get back up. I was panicked. As the Falmer came closer, I noticed it to be a Gloomlurker, one of the more powerful types. I was dead. Oh, Talos, I was dead!

But then an idea struck me. "Wait! Wait!" I cried, holding out my hands. He didn't seem to respond. I grabbed two bottles of mead, brandishing them out before me. "Gloomlurker! Listen! Hear me out, Snow Elf!"

That seemed to catch his attention. The Falmer slowed, though he still brandished his bow and kept an arrow pointed at me. Slowly, I set one of the bottles down, and drew the other toward me, popping off the cap with the end of a Dwarven dagger I'd found. I then extended my arm, offering the mead.

"It's mead, Snow Elf. Alcohol," I told him, making my voice as nonthreatening as possible.

His brow furrowed and I watched as his nostrils twitched, smelling the husky scent of the mead. He sheathed his bow, but pulled out a dagger for protection. His free hand fumbled to get the bottle from my hand, and he took a sip, before downing the whole thing and throwing it to the ground.

"Why?" he hissed, his voice low and drawn out, sounding as if it hadn't been used for anything but growling and snarling in years. I guessed that they didn't have much to talk about down here.

"On the surface, we would call you a Gloomlurker. I figure there has to be a reason for it. Maybe all you need is something fun in your life, eh? Some mead, some nice little Snow Elf girl, maybe some _adventure_?"

He looked towards me quizzically, making perhaps the most humorous face that could be on a Falmer. "A trick," he accused, "A lying trick!" He raised his dagger to strike me, but I halted his hand by popping the cap off of another bottle, the sound echoing in the caverns and his sensitive ears.

"Why would I trick you?" I asked, "Even if I killed you, your cries would be heard throughout the cave and your brethren would descend upon my like starved skeevers. I have twelve bottles of wine, eighteen bottles of Nord Mead, and another seventeen bottles of Black-Briar, the stuff you just drank. Hear me out."

He glared towards me, unsure, but then finally nodded. "I'll take up your offer of . . . _fun_, Imperial. I'll take you to my brothers, and we will see what they have to say. But I will be watching you closely."

A bright grin came over my face, causing that same, funny look of confusion to scrunch his wrinkled face together. "Great!" I weaseled out of my large satchel, pulling some of the large weapons off of my belt and tossing them behind me. Soon, I had dropped enough weight to be able to stand up and walk, and I gathered half of the bottles of mead in my arms, stuffing the rest in the arms of the Gloomlurker. "You take the rest. We're going to have a party tonight!" A look of disapproval washed over him, but he kept the bottles in his arms. "Okay, Mr. Gloomlurker. My name is Sam. What can I call you?" I asked cheerfully.

He looked in my direction, something like hatred in his vision-less red eyes and pursed lips. "Kevin," he finally answered.

"Kevin? That's a great name! Well, Kevin the Gloomlurker, I have a feeling we're going to become the best of friends. And I _assure_ you that in less than a week—assuming your family allows me to live—you'll go from _Gloom_lurker to _Bliss_lurker!"

He didn't find it so amusing, but I did see something odd tug at his lips. Who knows? Maybe he did like the sounds of it. But before he became a Blisslurker, I was going to have to convince the rest of these guys not to string me up by my intestines. Surely, it'd be an easy task . . . Right?


End file.
